Friday, 25 May 2012

This doesn't count...

Right now I am on an exercise high. My husband doesn't believe in all the weird things that runners say. Y'know. The Runner's High. Second Wind. ITB. PF. LSD. Like the time he ran the Auroville trail, and all of us were gushing about the forest and how beautiful and all that. "Sucked" he said when we asked him how his run was.

I am not sure if its a true chemical high or whatever. But I do feel pretty good after I exercise. I usually exercise in the early mornings. Wee hours, if it was up to me. A little less wee, at times, due to various. (Such as sharp elbows poking me in the nose - thank you, child of mine, for that episode last night).

So, if I write a post in that state, I feel like it shouldn't count. I come across as much more positive natured than actual. Its a false sense of it. Dutch courage, of sorts. Dutch courage reminds me of all the things that have ticked me off in the past several weeks.

My passport still lies, with the Netherlands consulate folks. Who did not reject my visa application, per se, but haven't returned my passport yet, and the meetings I was supposed to attend are already done with. We saw the guys on skype and they said "Oh the weather is awesome here" while we sweated smellily all over the place. Despite air-conditioning in the video studio where we did the skype.

A general lethargy that sets in unless I am super spectacularly busy. You have to count my posts per month to judge this. I have had responsibilities, but things have slowed down now, in this half of the month of May. So I feel a bit blah. Like my place in the universe is not so important any more so I can just, you know, slink into obscurity. Which I think I'll like, but am not too sure about.

Obscurity sounds good in principle, especially now, because I am feeling a bit asocial. I don't want to deal with people. Seriously. I don't want to make polite conversation. I don't want to be nice and smiling and engaging and listening and commenting and helping. I want to be crabby and well, alone. I want a cool dark room and a bit of music.

"Schizophrenic" say the kids to me sometimes. They mean neither to be politically incorrect nor outright mean. They say my speaking volume varies rapidly and that I mumble. I hate mumblers. I hope I am not mumbling in class. Oh I bet I am mumbling in class. DAMMIT. Hate that mumbling. Need to fix it. Like that thing I hate most of all. When people tell you their phone number. And eat up the last digit as if it matters not at all.

Yeah so there you go. Its been about three hours since I finished with my exercise. I started this post soon after but abandoned it 'cause I managed to convince the child to practice her music for a bit, and she needed some help with that. This counts now. I am back down after the exercise high and feel sufficiently irritated, mumbly, disgruntled, lethargic, frowny, etc. to be able to tell you that, truly, life sucks.